The More They Disappear (31 page)

“I bet the person knew the server,” the tech said.

“Why's that?”

“There's an apple pie wrapper among the evidence but it wasn't on the bill.”

“Good find,” he said.

“Rocket science,” she replied.

Harlan stepped back in his cruiser and drove past the capitol building on his way out of Frankfort, chain-smoked until he had to pull off near the outskirts of Lexington for gas. He was greeted by an intersection of fluorescent flash and arrow and pulled into a crowded Shell station. It had once been farmland. It had all been farmland. Now it was gas stations and fast-food joints and hotel chains. Now it was boxy houses built over fields that had been plowed for centuries. The city seemed to attack the land like a virus, spreading a little more each year. Harlan wondered how God could look down and not cringe. Rivers polluted. Mountains leveled. People fenced in by the ring roads they'd built. Kids smoking, huffing, shooting up. And Harlan was no better. He hid in his hovel and smoked pot to forget the past. Less than half his life over and in so many ways he'd given up.

The lit parking lot of Walmart shimmered as he came into town—Marathon's sad way of announcing itself. The inhabitants of an RV had set up chairs in a circle as if camping in some pristine wilderness. Shopping carts were scattered about, one rolling down an empty row pushed by unseen hands. Harlan pulled into the McDonald's next door and eased around the line at the drive-thru.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. His gut was twisted with hunger, but even as a kid, the rare trip for a burger and fries ended with him vomiting and his father belting him for not appreciating the Happy Meal like a normal child. He headed inside and pretended to study the menu. He planned to ask the manager for security tapes from the day of Lew's murder, but as he approached the counter, he noticed a familiar face working the drive-thru. He checked his notes for the name of the server. Tara. The girl he and Paige had seen leaving the dirt track.

“That girl at the drive-thru,” he said to the cashier.

“Tara?”

“Yeah, that's it. Tara. I'd like to chat with her.”

“You gotta talk with the manager about that.”

“Okay.”

The cashier stood like a stump, hands perched above the till.

“So, I want to talk with the manager,” Harlan said.

“Oh. Sure.” Harlan shook his head as the kid lumbered toward the break room.

A dyed redhead with her pants hiked up like an old man came out a minute later and asked how she could help. Harlan mentioned Tara and followed the manager's eyes to the girl, who was deep in the trance of her work. “She's not in any trouble,” Harlan said, anticipating the next question.

The woman looked unconvinced. “I'll send her on her fifteen,” she said before asking if he wanted something to eat.

Harlan felt his stomach grumble again. “How about a cheeseburger and a soda.”

“Like a number two?”

“Just one cheeseburger and a Coke would be great.”

A couple minutes later, Tara carried a tray over and took the seat opposite Harlan in a red vinyl booth. He thanked her and opened the wrapper. He examined the piddly burger skeptically before taking a bite, but God, he'd been hungry. He took another bite and the burger was half-gone. “We met the other day,” he said. “You were leaving the dirt track.”

Tara nodded.

“This isn't about that, though.”

She nodded again.

“You've been giving away free food.”

The girl shook her head. “I haven't—”

“Tell the truth now.”

Tara looked away, fidgeted with the hat atop her head. She'd tried to cover the grease stains with pins. The Golden Arches. The Hamburgler.

“I'm not here to cause you trouble,” Harlan said. “I just want to chat.”

“Every now and then,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the manager, who tried to look busy but was watching them intently. “Everybody does it.”

“It's okay,” Harlan said. “I'm just gonna ask a couple questions. I know the other employees do it, too.” He fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers. “So do you only give freebies to people you know or is it anyone who comes in?”

She stared at her fingernails as though there was something interesting there. “It's not anyone.”

“Tara,” he said. “Look at me.”

“Just friends,” she said. “I'm not like a criminal. I'm just a good friend.”

“And you have a lot of friends?”

Her eyes returned to her nails. “Not too many.”

“Don't worry,” Harlan said. “Your manager over there, she doesn't know what we're talking about. This information came from someplace else. And I want you to keep this job, but I need you to be honest with me.”

Tears started to well up in the girl's eyes. “I need this job,” she said.

“Now, come on. Don't do that. Don't cry. This can be between us. I just need you to tell me who you've given free food to in the last couple weeks. Can you do that?”

Tara sniffled, composed herself. “Sure. There's this boy I used to date, Tyler Darnell. He keeps coming by and I give him free stuff to get him out of my hair. And my best friend, Jana Jarboe. And I guess Mary Jane came by, too. That girl you saw me with at the dirt track.”

“Mary Jane Finley?”

“Yeah. We aren't close, but she came through a couple days before I saw you and that woman deputy. I gave her a dessert we were going to time out. It was actually a joke. I mean Mary Jane's kind of piggy.” She hesitated. “Maybe that's why she called me the next day to hang out.”

“Is that everyone?”

“My mom. She's the biggest mooch of all. Tonight she asked me to get her a fish sandwich and fries. Extra tartar sauce.”

Harlan wrote the names in his notebook. “Why don't you like Mary Jane?”

“I don't know. She's a rich girl who's always trying to act normal. And everyone in her year graduated and she's still hanging around. It's weird. And when she gets all fucked up, she lies. Like the other night at the dirt track she was drunk and told me she had a boyfriend and they loved each other and were going to get married and have babies.”

“A boyfriend?”

“Yeah. Mark Gaines.”

“The doctor's son?”

“Yeah. But he's down at UK, so I know Mary Jane's lying. Like I said, she's a weirdo.”

“What do you know about Mark?”

“Not much. He drives a fancy yellow car.”

“But he's not close with Mary Jane?”

“They dated way back when she was a freshman or something. It's pathetic, really, the way she lies like that.”

Harlan nodded. “Do me a favor. Have your manager come over here. I'm going to tell her a little white lie about our chat. But don't make me come back, Tara. Stop giving away food.”

The girl sniffled and wiped her eyes clear of the tears that had never come. “Okay.”

The manager shared a couple of words with Tara before coming over. Harlan thanked her for the meal and asked if they kept security tapes; she claimed not to have access and gave him the name and number of the proprietor.

After he left the McDonald's, Harlan headed east and roamed the county roads. He didn't want to go home and fall asleep on the same unwashed sheets in the same shabby house, so he drove. And drove. A soft rain fell and slicked the blacktop, and as his windshield wipers whipped back and forth, the mile markers and trees flashed in his headlights before they turned into nothings and disappeared like the earth was being swallowed by the coming dark.

 

eleven

Lewis opened the front door and allowed himself the fleeting fantasy he'd find Sophie and the girls inside and life would return to normal. Instead he found an empty house—dark even though it was the middle of the afternoon. The evergreens left by the developer blocked the sun and the windows were too small to brighten the rooms. The builder had meant for the place to feel like an upmarket cabin—wide cedar floorboards and high ceilings—but standing inside the living room simply made a man feel small.

The girls' favorite stuffed animals were missing and Sophie and Lewis's bed was unslept in. Lewis played the answering machine, and as soon as he heard his voice slurring an apology, hit Delete. In the kitchen he made a pimento cheese sandwich and drank the last of the milk. His stomach was wrecked but recovering. It was time to stop drinking and get his health in order. The rest would follow. He packed a bag of toiletries and a couple of changes of clothes. Anything more would be admitting something he didn't want to admit. Then he checked that the windows and doors were locked and turned down the thermostat. It reminded him of leaving for a family vacation, only there was no family.

He drove to Trip's house and parked behind Sophie's Volvo. The girls were playing in the yard and Ginny came up to him while Stella ran inside.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” he said.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“What were you and Stella doing?”

Ginny twisted her leg like she had to pee. “Why'd you hit Grandpa?”

Lewis appreciated that she hadn't yet learned to speak in slanted adult ways. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“Mom's
real
mad.”

“I know.”

“It's okay.” There was a film of wet over her eyes. “You just need to say you're sorry.”

He bent down and gave her a hug. “I know. I will, honey.”

Sophie came out of the house in a new dress and leather jacket. She always went shopping when things got rough. Ginny led him to the front steps but he waited to be invited up. Sophie looked down. “Go on inside, Ginny,” she said. Lewis caught Stella craning her neck around the open doorframe. He smiled but she didn't react. Sophie closed the door. “You did this to yourself,” she said.

Lewis didn't deny it. “Can I come in?” he asked.

“Daddy doesn't want to see you.”

“And you?”

“I'm talking to you, aren't I?”

“How about we talk on the steps then?”

Sophie folded her hands behind her legs to keep her dress in place and sat. A lady through and through. She was too conscious of her every move to ever embarrass herself, a habit that had the effect of putting Lewis on edge. He sat beside her but not too close, and they allowed themselves one of those silences that people take before important conversations. They looked into the distance as if to make sense of the world. Lewis let the moment play out, but it all looked the same to him. Grass, trees, house. Hills, house, trees. “I'm sorry for the other night,” he said after a while.

“I don't know what you expect from me. Your father died and you're upset, but you shouldn't take that out on me. Or my dad.”

“My father lied to me, Sophie. To everyone. And your dad, he knew the truth but he never said a word. Don't I have a right to be angry?”

“Daddy tried to protect you. Protect us. Deep down you wanted to be just like your father. What would telling you or me or anyone about his gambling have accomplished? It would've broken your heart.”

Lewis started to argue against this but stopped. He didn't particularly feel like being analyzed as if he were on one of Sophie's talk shows. He could get over his father's failings—most sons do—but he couldn't get over the lies. He tried to change the subject, searched for common ground. “How are the girls?” he asked.

“They like it here.”

“And you? How are you?”

She let out a deep breath, brushed back her hair, and set her mouth. She could turn from vibrant to lifeless in an instant. “Don't be so dramatic,” she said. “It's been a couple days. I'm fine. And no matter what, I'll be fine. Just apologize and start campaigning again. We'll figure out the rest.”

“So that's the main thing, the election?”

“For the moment.”

“And the girls? Aren't they more important?”

Lewis hoped Sophie would realize how callous she sounded, but she stared right through him and said, “They're just kids, Lewis. Feed them, bathe them, put them in front of a movie.”

“It's that simple?”

“It's simpler than you make it out to be.”

“I guess you have all the answers.”

She stood and swiped the back of her skirt for any stray bits of dirt. “If you're ready to apologize, come inside. I can talk to Daddy with you. That way we can skip the melodrama.”

“Are you coming home?”

“Not yet. I have things to work out here.”

Lewis looked up to Trip's second-floor bedroom, imagined him looking down like some lord. He was tired of playing second fiddle in Sophie's life; it would always keep them a little ways apart. “I'm not ready to apologize,” he said. “And I'd like it if you and the girls stayed at our house, but I suspect you'll do what your father says.”

“This is how you want it?” she asked. There was no feeling in her voice. No love. She'd loved him once. He knew that. He knew because he'd loved her, too. Real love. Full of passion and promise. He wondered when they'd become so static. He could have hugged her, could have let her know he remembered the nights they'd danced without music, the mornings they'd stayed in bed just to hold each other, but instead he sat there like a tree. “All you have to do is apologize,” she said.

“No,” he replied, “I'd apologize, and then I'd have to lead my life how your father says, and I suppose the girls would have to do the same, and that's not what I signed up for. I didn't marry your father. I married you.”

“Well, I didn't sign up for a husband who gets drunk and falls apart the moment something goes wrong. I guess we don't always get what we want.”

Lewis smiled despite himself. The words coming out of her mouth—Mick Jagger's words—tickled him.

“What's funny about this, Lewis?”